Delaying the Inevitable
by Chosha-Senpai
Summary: Life is just a constant game, but in the end, all you can do is stall your defeat. OC/Self-Insert - ON TEMPORARY HIATUS
1. A Dream of Death

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of the franchises that will be mentioned in this fanfiction. All rights go to their respective owners.**

 **-=-=-=()=-=-=-**

It is a simple fact that everything in this world, this _universe_ , is so abstractly complex yet amazingly simple at the same time. From books to animals to life itself, all could change, giving different views, various points and understanding.

All that is needed is a change of perspective.

For example, tea can go from a simple drink made from leaves and boiled water to amazingly intricate and complicated brew that takes hours upon hours to create, taking precise timing and herbs to make the calming refreshment just right.

Life, likewise, is simply a game of chess. We play different opponents, gain pieces, win, lose, and, most importantly, learn. Sometimes we are pieces in other games, however willing. In the end, everyone, no matter whom, is just a small pawn in the grand scheme of the world, of the universe.

Every game builds us up, makes us stronger. We falter, and we fall. We move on, and we overcome. It is so simple, yet so complicated at the same time. It reminds us that all games are worth something; taking out a single battle, winning or losing one match, could affect _everything_.

There is always one opponent that we face constantly, no matter what we do, who we face, and how we play. All matches prepare us for this game, this battle, against the being that has no equal, who can never be beat. You can stall, but it will always win in the end.

That opponent is Death, an ethereal being, a dark knight flying around the board, eliminating, protecting, and defying. It cannot be controlled, tamed, or tampered with. It is simply not done. All eventually falls to that opponent, no matter the tricks or traps pulled.

Many play on at their own pace, not in any hurry to finish or wanting to do anything to lengthen the game. Some forfeit the match, finding it hard to continue through the torturous game. Others desperately try to delay the inevitable, pulling out every trick in the book in a hopeless attempt to win.

When you lose (because it is not if, _will never be if_ ), Death will take your hand, lead you from the board, and into a new life. All other games you play stop, freezing forever at your departure. There are no resets, no rematches, no new challenges. You have lost, and you pay the price.

There is only one exception. Sometimes, and those who have experienced it will never know why, Death will simply reach over, place his hand over yours, and ask to play again. You do not have a choice in the matter. So you restart the games, with new experiences, new strategies, and a new mind.

As the pieces reset, however, everything changes.

 **(+)-=-(+)-=-(+)**

My death, I knew, would come early. All things that rise must come down eventually, and the higher they go, the harder the fall. Upon the bones and ashes of my victims rose a criminal empire unlike any other. Whether it be thieves, drug dealers, assassins, or even the common thug, we united under our emblem; two dragons, circling around the moon, another symbol for eternal life.

Immortality was a foolish thought and all who lived like we did knew that. Death waited for you around every corner, never giving you a moment to rest without another challenge; the cost of failure being your life. I overcame, and rose to the top of the food chain. All in the underground feared Eternal and it's members, working hard to join, ensuring their survival.

It was all too good to last.

When the time finally came, it was a bit disappointing how it turned out. There were no infiltration tricks, no ambushes, no traps. The police busted straight through the main door and proceeded to take out each and every one of us one by one.

Criminals and thugs knew the true scum that was the Earth and humanity, so we all bonded by that mutual hatred and disgust. Watching the blood of my associates (because even though they barely knew each other, all knew everyone else's name in the very least) was, in short, terrifying, but at the same time _thrilling_. Crimson liquid dripping and flowing from wounds, screams as others were shot down, the constant flow of adrenaline pumping through my veins, the pushing to just _stay alive_ … fighting had never been more enjoyable.

I knew my end had come as soon as the last thug fell, and every bit of attention trained on me. Grinning a maniacal, broken, tooth-filled smile, I raced out of the room, listening in amusement as shouts and rapid footfalls echoed through the halls as I sprinted through the labyrinth, jumping up countless flights of stairs and running past empty rooms. I could hardly feel the bullet wounds in my body, blood steadly seeping around the crimson-stained ammunition.

Making one last final push of strength, I busted open a large, ornate door. Ignoring the scattered papers and bloody corpse of my former boss, I quickly climbed over the oak desk, weakly fumbled for a moment, and after a couple seconds, threw open a giant window in the back of the room. Climbing onto the windowsill, I grinned victoriously as cops began filling the room, watching me with cautious and surprised eyes. Wind rippled through my raggedly cut sandy hair, the drying blood matted into the locks, only making the scene darker.

Smirking, I raised my hand in a mock-salute, lazily observing how their bodies tensed at the gesture, one policeman shaking in fury at the obvious disrespect. All had their guns up and ready, fingers resting on the trigger, twitching in anticipation. Placing my hand on my pistol for reassurance, I felt my self-assured smirk grow until it was a full-out insane grin, jagged and broken at the edges. Letting out a childish giggle, I tilted backwards over the sill, saying only five parting words;

"See you in hell, bastards."

Gunshots sounded and bullets sailed above me as my small, limp body flew threw the wild air and toward the rapidly nearing concrete, all happening while I pulled two small items out of my pocket. The first was a beautifully crafted ebony chess piece, shaped like a king, with various grooves and details accenting the intricate figure.

The piece was simply a comfort object, left over and given to me by Father (my parent, my mentor, my teacher) before he had passed, if only to help me get over my pathetic grief. What was dead was dead, there was no changing that. 'Even so', I thought, griping the tiny object tightly in my right hand, placing the limb holding the priceless (yet in the end, worthless) piece over my heart, 'I'll be seeing my Father soon enough.'

In my left held the most dangerous of the weapons in my stash, however unassuming it may be. It was a small metal box with an unusual red button in the bottom left corner.

 _10…_

My body continued it's descent as civilians below began noticing the falling form that was myself.

 _9…_

Adults began herding children away; soft shrieks and fearful screams filling the street.

 _8…_

I heard voices begin calling out, shouting why I had given up. I'm certain that no one actually said that, however.

 _7…_

After all, no one worries for a monster.

 _6…_

I had lost this game to Death.

 _5…_

After many years of evasion, of stalling, he had forced me to a checkmate; a forfeit.

 _4…_

My hand clenched around both the ebony king and the metallic box, mentally preparing myself.

 _3…_

I rested my thumb on top of the button.

 _2…_

I closed my eyes.

 _1…_

The desperate and scared screams of the growing crowd hadn't died.

 _0…_

My thumb pressed down.

Flames burned at my flesh for a few moments, pain coming in sharp jabs throughout my body as it hit the ground, bones splintering and tissues tearing. Screams, not no long ago filled with sadness and desperation were now brimming with fear and shock. Explosions boomed from the surround buildings, flames crackled, and debris fell as their supports crashed down.

The sweet harmony of destruction filled my ears as peaceful darkness overcame my vision.

At that moment, Dylan Kinston, spymaster of Eternal, died.

If only it would last.

 **-=-=-=()=-=-=-**

 **This is simply a late-night ramble that's probably going to turn into a large mess at some point. My brain was screaming at me to create this, so I thought 'Why not?' I have absolutely no idea where this is going, but hopefully it works out. I hope this isn't to terrible and if you see any mistakes, please tell me so I can fix them (constructive criticism is needed!)**

 **I am just giving you a heads up now though. If you are looking for a happy-go-lucky, morally correct SI OC then you have come to the wrong place. My oc (name will be given next chapter) has one word to describe her; insane. I hope to try and make her as little of a Mary-Sue as I can. The Naru-verse will be introduced next chapter, don't worry!**

 **Thanks for your time and for reading the beginning of this story!**

 **Ja-Ne~**


	2. A Dream of Rebirth

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or any franchise referenced in this fanfiction, I only own my oc. All rights go to their respective owners.**

 **-=oO()Oo=-=oO()Oo=-=oO()Oo=-**

 _The rooks edge the walls_

Hands fly over the board, setting pieces down rapidly, never pausing for a second.

 _The pawns guard the pieces_

Shadows line up all around checkered surface, their sick cheers rising and fading with the void.

 _The knights guard the towers_

Empty screams are drowned by deafening silence, overpowering even the loudest of voices.

 _The bishops advise the rulers_

All the while, each piece creates a satisfying _click_ as it hits the smooth surface.

 _The queen goes on her color_

Black or white, marble or obsidian, yew or ebony, light or darkness, it matters not now.

 _And the king is left over_

Because the pieces are set.

Let the games begin.

 **(+)-=-(+)-=-(+)**

Seijō Ishi is what she is called in this life.

She likes it well enough, she eventually decides. From her limited knowledge of Japanese, she thinks it means "Stone", which is ridiculously simple. Then again, thankfully she isn't "Hana" or, dear Jashin, "Aiko". No one should be allowed to have those names, so simplistic and so stuffy at the same time, filled with dreadful visions of cheerfulness and false joy.

'Yes,' She concludes, 'Ishi is a good name. Not great, not terrible, but good.'

(But yet it is not the same)

 **(+)-=-(+)-=-(+)**

Ishi watches with dulled vision as adults (or, at least, those with the bodies of adults), converse in Japanese, a relatively unknown language, a foreign tongue. Each expression is flooded with happiness, emotions playing openly across each face as family and friends embrace.

 _'How weak,'_ her mind spitefully hisses, dark and dripping with malice, ' _how innocent, how pure, how naïve, how fragile.'_

 _'You could crush them.'_ the treacherous thoughts continue, pressing a dark force against her mind, breaking the weakening psyche slowly. With a practiced ear, Ishi tunes out the dark whispers of insanity, if only for a brief second.

Looking over at the cheerful villagers, voices and expressions filled with cheer and trusting, filled her with (useless) hope, as well as burning rage, because these souls have not suffered, have not gone through hell. None have been traumatized, killed, or do anything terrible.

It filled Ishi's heart with joy and hope, but at the same time, sorrow, rage, and emptiness (because she is alone, _is always alone_ ), as well as dread.

Because when she looks at them, all she can think is how easy it would be to slice through their flesh, wreck them until they turn to ruin, and break them so much inside that they are nothing more than an empty husk.

Because when she looks at those sickly joyful faces, she wonders when the double-sided blade of Love is turned on them thrust through their heart until nothing is left but an empty expanse of darkness and emptiness, just like her own.

It would be lovely.

(Because she is a monster, and no one helps a monster.)

 **(+)-=-(+)-=-(+)**

The village is attacked.

It was easy to tell that they were coming, as when their feet hit they joining the thundering chorus of roars, both approaching from the sides of the small village. Those living in said village cowered, trying desperately to hide from the overpowering forces.

They run, attempting to shield those who cannot help themselves, and flee, breaking away from the ferocious demons (because surely no one is that cruel, that powerful, _that evil_ ) that ravage their land and tear up their homes.

Only two symbols define the groups they belong to, both feared, respected, and revered.

( _No one notices a small child's eyes widening, filled with dread, fear, and anticipation that does not fit in an infant's eyes_ )

One was a beautiful fan, crimson lining the top, a blinding white creating the handle.

 _(Uchiha)_

The other, four graceful curves, a straightforward slash cutting through them, complete with another small line down the middle, forming a sort of cross.

 _(Senju)_

The two forces met in the middle, war cries echoing through the lands as sparks flew from metal meeting metal, never relenting. Hands seemed to flicker as trees grew quickly from the earth, sharpening and lashing out at their foes. In response, fire flew from mouths, rushing toward bark at a furious pace, burning through wood, metal, and flesh alike. The raging battle shakes and scorches the land, turning the once beautiful fields into a desolate desert.

Those around flee from their homes, powerless to stop the beings destroying the livelihoods built up over decades of hard work, come crashing down around them. So they run, not wanting to be caught up in battle, fear overriding all other emotions in a gambit to survive, pushing beyond limits to escape. There is no resistance, because everyone knows that fleeing is the best option, because this is war.

And all know that war is hell.

 _(No one knows why an infant, usually so exuberant, is subdued, unresponsive. Nothing penetrates the blank, unnatural face as ash and smoke fills the air, blurring vision and clogging senses. No one knows why or how, because who can explain why there is an baby, so cold, so uncaring. It is unnatural, making no sense even in this strange world.)_

And there is no end in sight.

 _(She just wants to leave this place and go home._

 _However, there is no home._

 _There is only Hell, and there is no escape.)_

 **-=oO()Oo=-=oO()Oo=-=oO()Oo=-**

 **Also, sorry again about any and all grammar mistakes this chapter. If you see something wrong, please tell me so I can fix it! (Constructive criticism is needed!)**

 **Anyways, thanks for taking the time to read this story!**

 **Ja-ne~**


	3. A Dream of Beginnings

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or any franchises referenced in this fanfiction, all I own is my OCs. All rights go to their respective owners.**

 **-=oO()Oo=-=oO()Oo=-=oO()Oo=-**

The game begins, and the pieces begin to shift. Each move is part of an intricate dance, weaving and flowing. Pieces fly around the checkered board, moving in ways that seem to change the course of the seemingly steady rhythm, working to counter-act moves long before they are played.

To any looking down upon the game, seeing only the sharp, confident movements of each piece, effortless, this cold, calculating match, one that works with logic, with tactic. To any watching those compete, the match is oddly tense, exciting to both them and the players, creating the twisted view as they observe with an interested eye the emotions, ever so small and fleeting, being put into every move made.

This, however, could not be farther from the truth.

Every move was a scream for help, a frantic attempt to survive, every advance a war cry, every retreat a whimper. Weakness was scorned, and hesitance forbidden. Struggling was all they could do, fighting to survive the next round. There was a simple truth in this game of life or death, where every move dictated the next. One single move could change everything, from a single advance of a pawn, to a bold attack of a knight.

Because this was more than a game; no, it is a trial, controlling love and hate, light and dark, innocent and tainted. The board is a battleground, the pieces the soldiers, the game a war. There is no mercy; fight or die, adapt or crumble, destroy or be demolished.

However, just like nothing is purely emotion, nothing is completely logical, working with tactic alone despite all and any circumstance. Everything, everyone, makes mistakes, no matter how big or small, no matter how complex or simple. All feel, fight, learn, grow, and ultimately change. Emotion is what keeps someone from diving into insanity, keeping them away from the life of a puppet; never feeling for itself, following its master's every whim. Emotion is what allows change, and emotion, no matter how scorned, is important.

However, like everything, there are flaws in this way of thought.

Making a mistake in this trial may _(will)_ be fatal, feelings finding no place in the battle of mids.

Nothing is purely logical.

You hesitate.

 **-=oO()Oo=-=oO()Oo=-=oO()Oo=-**

War, a word with many meanings, definitions, and perceptions. Some think of war at a distance, faraway from their world. They think of a battle with opposing sides, fighting for differing goals. They are the ones who live in a peaceful world, with no worries or cares other than what to do tomorrow.

To those who have seen the battles, who have starved and moved and hid, they know war as a hungry beast, devouring those in its path, destroying the ones who refuse to bow. It is unmerciful, not caring for those who live in its wake, who stand in its way. They suffer, and they know.

But the ones who know war for what it truly is are the ones who join the beast no matter how willing. War is both heaven and hell, both an expanse of light and a void of darkness. It is a dance of blades and death, corpses and souls.

They watch with horror as countless numbers are struck down, brothers and sisters torn from the world. They are the ones who know that there is no winner or losers in war, there is only bodies and the one standing on top of the pile.

But one more group remains, full of the twisted and insane. They believe war is a game of life or death, rooting out the weak and empowering the strong. They revel in blood, uncaring of the ones they must slaughter to fulfill their satisfaction. To survive the demon of war, they became monsters themselves.

They are the ones who live on Death's doorstep, but in the end, will be the ones to reap it's rewards.

 **-=oO()Oo=-=oO()Oo=-=oO()Oo=-**

Eventually the commotion settles and those who survive rebuild. It is no easy task, recreating years of hard work and skill in a short time, but it must be done. All must be perfect, fitting for a new generation to grow and learn.

From the scorched earth rise simple yet effective structures, built to endure years of harsh winters and grueling work. From ashes of a ruined forest, lush crops are coaxed from the ground, products of hard work and single-minded determination.

They band together, no matter the difference; men and women, old and young, it mattered not; they were the same in this mad, torn world, full of beasts and demons. Bound, not by village, gender, or age, but by experience and necessity.

Alone they are weak, easy prey to those who hunt in the shadows. Alone, they are nothing but small rodents, fleeing from the larger predators. Together, however, they are strong, and even though they are powerless to the predators still, they can fight and live, rebuild and gain. It is no longer a one-sided battle any longer.

There is a fighting chance.

(Yet, no one notices as an infant stresses, darkness overpowering, whispering its poisonous temptations as light, so small and feeble, attempts to repel the attack.

No one notices. Not the parents, who are hard at work contributing to the construction. Not the caretakers, to busy to notice a single oddity among many. Not the children, who are too young, to naïve to care.

After all, in the grand scheme of things, what is one small light compared to a hundred?)

 **-=oO()Oo=-=oO()Oo=-=oO()Oo=-**

 **This is less of a chapter and more of a set-up once I really think about. There's probably so many mistakes in there I need to find, but currently I'm tired as all hell. Sorry about the lack of plot here, by the way. One last thing for now; I'm going to be updating on a (hopefully) weekly schedule on Wednesdays if school allows it.**

 **Anyways, thanks for reading and see you next time!**

 **(Edit: School currently is occupying all of my time, and I don't have the time to write for now. I'm also debating on creating a story where it'll tell the tale of one SI/OC each chapter. Each chapter would be more fun to write and I could try out more ideas (This story may or may not be continued however, and will be posted in the other story.) Please tell me your opinion.)**

 **Ja-ne~**


	4. -Major Update (Read)-!

**Hello everyone! I'm sorry, but this is unfortunately not an update. Currently, I'm working on several projects that need completion, and my muse for this story has apparently gone on a vacation, despite how short said story currently is. With that said, my options are the following; Continue with hiatus and try to get the muse to return, put story up for adoption, get some help/a beta, or continue with my idea from the previous chapter and create a new story full of oneshots of different Si/Ocs and post it there as a oneshot.**

 **Going on a hiatus won't solve anything for now, though it might help me get over the writers block, but it will take a long time. For adoption, I still want to give this story a chance because of how short it currently is. For beta/help, it takes a lot of time and effort to try and get someone to read through and edit, especially if all your options aren't in your fandom. The final solution would have sporadic updates but longer chapters and would allow more freedom.**

 **I have no idea what I should do, so I'm going to leave a poll on my profile between the options (even though most likely no one will vote). The poll will end on August 1, so please vote before then.**

 **Thank you for putting up with my current troubles, and I most definitely thank you for reading.**

 **Ja-ne~**


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